


Demonstration

by whichclothes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles is teaching Wesley how a watcher should spank a disobedient boy - he uses Spike as the demonstration model - Spike doesn't mind too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demonstration

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Many thanks to my lovely beta, silk_labyrinth ! For the Spanked Spike Fic and Artathon.

** Demonstration **

** by whichclothes **

Good Scotch whisky was to blame. At least that was what Giles told himself afterward, and no doubt Wesley put the blame there as well. But Spike knew better. And the amused—if slightly wary—glint in his eyes over the months that followed made it clear that he knew that Giles knew better as well.

Wesley Wyndham-Price had stumbled into town, ridiculous in motorcycle leathers, bumbling about as always and going on about being a rogue demon-hunter. Giles didn’t especially want any reminders of the Council, even if Wesley had been sacked, and he tried to hurry the man out of Sunnydale. “Cleveland,” Giles had said to him. “I’ve heard there’s a hellmouth there as well. Not as big as this one, perhaps, but quite serviceable.”

Wesley slumped in Giles’ doorway. “I think, erm, an entire hellmouth might be a bit, erm, much you see….” His cheeks were stained with a faint blush, and it was that little hint of embarrassment that finally piqued Giles’ interest.

“If you don’t fancy a hellmouth, what are you doing here? I’d expect that the site of your… well, failure is too cruel a word perhaps….” He allowed his voice to trail away sympathetically, watching the other man squirm as the knife worked its way slowly into his skin. 

Either Wesley didn’t know that Giles had also been sacked by the Council, or he was too flustered to remember it. In either case, his cheeks went from pink to red and although he lifted his chin, his lips were a bit wobbly. “I am in pursuit of a demon,” he stated. “It may have passed through Sunnydale.”

“A great many demons do.” Deep down, Giles knew he shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, but life had been very difficult for him of late and it was a pleasant change to see someone else suffer a bit, especially if that someone had so recently proved himself nearly insufferable. 

“This one is enormous and secretes a yellow, viscous fluid. I almost caught it in Phoenix but it got away. It seems to be attacking victims who possess special powers, and I believe that perhaps with the Slayer here—”

“We haven’t seen anything like that,” Giles interrupted. “And if we did, no doubt Buffy would dispatch it in short order.”

Wesley frowned uncertainly before adopting a pleading expression, like a hungry puppy left out in the rain. “I’ve been traveling for some time now.”

With an aggrieved sigh and an eye roll, Giles ushered him into his flat. He wasn’t as annoyed as he let on, however. He’d been feeling bored and useless, and at least Wesley promised a few minutes of distraction. He gestured Wesley to the sofa and went to the kitchen to fill two glasses with a couple fingers of scotch. From a fresh bottle. He’d been going through rather a lot of the stuff lately.

Wesley took the glass. He had a small sip, shuddered slightly, and then drank more. Giles scowled at him for a moment before returning to the kitchen to fetch the entire bottle. With the bottle placed within reach, he sat in his favorite armchair and emptied his glass in one go. It burned wonderfully.

“Are you certain you haven’t seen this demon?” Wesley asked as Giles poured himself a refill. “It’s enormous and—”

“Quite certain.”

“Ah.”

Giles sat back in his chair and watched silently as Wesley nursed his drink and gazed nervously around the room. Finally, Wesley cleared his throat. “Are you still employed at the high school?”

“No. The school was destroyed.”

“Yes, I, erm… yes.” Another throat clearing, which seemed to echo loudly. “Then how are you spending your time?”

Giles glared at him until he realized that this might be some sort of clumsy attempt to feel Giles out as a potential partner in Wesley’s ridiculous rogue demon-hunting enterprise. That thought caused him to drink more scotch. “I’m still working with Buffy and the other children.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie.

“They’re not really children anymore, are they? Haven’t they begun university or gone on to other things?”

“Doesn’t mean they don’t still require occasional supervision and discipline,” Giles responded sharply. He couldn’t help but notice the way the other man twitched a bit at the word _discipline_. Giles smiled into his glass. “Yes,” he said slowly, “a good dose of discipline is definitely called for at times. Sometimes a mild chastisement will do, but some behaviors call for more forceful punishments.”

Wesley twitched again and had a swallow of whisky. “Oh?” he said, his voice slightly squeaky.

Giles raised an eyebrow. “You don’t agree?”

“No, of course I… It’s only… Americans, their views are rather different, I expect, and….”

“But I am not American, am I? Nor are you.”

“No.”

Giles emptied his glass and poured a third. “And although I consider myself a modern man, at times the old ways are more effective. When dealing with demons, especially, and those whose lives center around demons.”

Wesley finished his scotch as well, coughed, and then reached mutely for the bottle. Giles handed it to him with a barely-concealed grin. High color had once again formed on Wesley’s cheeks and, if Giles wasn’t mistaken, the other man was beginning to sweat under all that leather. Giles allowed his voice to assume a thoughtful, slightly paternal tone. “I expect the Council never taught you proper disciplinary techniques. Nor the schools you attended. They’ve been frightfully lax in recent years. Results in sloppy performance, I’m afraid.”

Wesley drew himself up slightly. “My schools were very strict! Any misconduct whatsoever resulted in strict suspension of privileges. For example—”

Giles interrupted him with a snort. “Privileges. I’m speaking of real punishment. Corporal punishment.”

This time Wesley blushed so violently that his ears went pink, which was a good look on him, Giles thought. “You mean caning, of course.” He tried to sound matter-of-fact but his voice wavered a bit.

“Caning, yes. Or paddling. Even a strapping or a lovely little flogging.” He put down his glass—which seemed to have emptied itself again—and flexed his fingers a few times. “But I’ve always believed that simply a hand—properly used, of course—is most effective.”

Wesley’s mouth actually dropped open and Giles gave a pleased little smile. Yes, the evening was turning out to be considerably more pleasant than he’d expected. Now, if only he could maneuver the conversation subtly forward, so that Wesley himself was the one to ask for a demonstration, well…. The mild-mannered former librarian had been in charge far too long. Ripper was hungry for just a bit of play.

Giles poured himself more scotch and drank it. The alcohol was thrumming nicely through his veins like a faint electrical charge, warming and energizing. His mind still felt beautifully clear, however, like the crystal on a very good watch or the lens of a powerful microscope. “You know,” he began, very deliberately, very slowly—and from the way that Wesley leaned slightly forward, Giles knew he had caught his prey already.

And then the door burst open.

Spike came sauntering in as if he owned the place, but stopped abruptly when he saw that Giles had company. For a very brief moment his mobile face expressed alarm—the vampire had become somewhat fearful of strangers since his encounter with the Initiative—but then he sniffed at the air twice before grinning widely. “I didn’t realize you were engaged, Rupert,” he purred.

Wesley’s face went an entirely new shade of red—he did have quite a collection—and he scrambled to his feet. “I’m… erm, I’m sorry, Mr. Giles. I didn’t know… erm….”

Ordinarily, Giles would have ushered one or both of them out of his home and then settled down to a quiet evening with his records and his books. But his body was humming and his skin felt tight, and all he did was have another leisurely sip of scotch. “Spike, this is Wesley Wyndham-Price. Former Watcher.”

Spike made a face. “Not another! You lot multiply like fungus.”

Wesley managed to look both offended and confused, and Giles decided it was time to add another emotion or two to the mix. “Wesley, meet Spike. More likely known to you as William the Bloody.”

Wesley squawked, dropped his glass (thankfully, cushioned by the rug), and fumbled in his too-tight leather trousers for a stake. Spike crossed his arms and looked his smuggest. Giles drank.

“The vampire?” Wesley exclaimed when he’d finally retrieved a stake with his trembling hand. “You gave a vampire leave to enter your home?”

Giles shrugged slightly. “This one’s neutered.”

“Oi!”

Yes, this evening was _much_ better than he’d expected.

While the vampire and the rogue demon-hunter squared off against each other like a pair of blustery children, neither brave enough to make the first move, Giles smiled. But then Spike shrugged his duster more firmly around his shoulders, whirled, and made as if to leave. That would spoil all the fun, so Giles put up a hand to stop him. “Why are you here?”

“Need dosh for blood, don’t I?” Spike muttered.

“You’re giving this creature money?” Wesley still held his stake, although he’d let his arm drop. His current expression was somewhere between incredulous and indignant.

“It’s a very long story,” Giles said to Wesley, and then turned his head to look at Spike. “And what precious jewels of information have you to share today?”

After a moment of thought, Spike replied, “There’s a nest of B’milni over at Restview.”

“There _was_ a nest of B’milni at Restview. Buffy exterminated them four nights ago. What about threats that haven’t yet been eliminated?”

Spike shifted from one foot to another and then sighed. “Between the Slayer and those G.I. Joe wankers there’s hardly a demon left for miles. Come on, Rupert. I’m bloody hungry.”

“Whinging will do you no good.”

“I’m not—bloody hell, Watcher. I’ve been on your side for weeks and I need a few bob to tide me over. Look at me. Nothing but skin and bones.” He lifted up his shirt to reveal a pale and hairless chest in which the ribs were perhaps a bit too prominent. Only one nipple could be seen, small and pale brown. It needed a clamp, Giles thought, or at least a silver ring. 

Giles pretended more interest in his glass than the vampire. “If you’ve nothing useful to offer you may leave.”

Spike dropped his shirt hem and worked his jaw and Wesley retrieved his glass and sat back down on the sofa. He didn’t let go of the stake. Giles swirled the bit of amber liquid in lazy circles. And then, as if the thought had just occurred to him, he tilted his head and tapped his lower lip with one finger. “You know, there might be something useful you could do after all.”

Spike was immediately suspicious. “What?”

“Before you interrupted us, Wesley and I were just discussing discipline, and modern schools’ dreadfully deficient ways of instilling it.”

The vampire blinked and then raised his scarred eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“I’ll wager that when you were a boy punishments were handed out freely, and they did not involve simple removal of privileges.”

“The headmaster of my school kept a cane and a birch and made you choose which he’d use. Kept the birch soaked in brine. He was a huge pillock. Broke a cane over my arse once. I couldn’t sit for days.” He grinned as if this were something to be proud of.

“How was a disobedient boy whipped?” Giles asked, although he knew the answer perfectly well.

Spike’s grin increased a few watts and he slouched across the floor until he collapsed gracefully onto the sofa. Wesley went rigid and tried to inch farther away. Spike grabbed Wesley’s glass, poured more scotch into it, and downed it in one gulp. “Some schools had a table or a bench, special made, and the boy would be tied down. My school, though, we were horsed.”

Oh, that was even better than Giles had hoped.

“Horsed? What does that mean?” Wesley asked despite himself, walking directly into Giles’ trap.

Giles set down his empty glass. “I think this calls for a demonstration.”

Spike stood again, his eyes sparkling merrily. He turned his back to Wesley and crouched forward slightly. “Right then. Climb on board.”

While Wesley looked confused again and slightly shocked, Giles smiled. “I’m afraid you mistake my meaning. It’s Wesley who shall serve as the horse. It suits better because he is taller. And not so badly in need of punishment.”

With a firm shake of his head, Spike marched to the door. “Sod this.”

“Very well. It seems you’re not so hungry after all.”

Spike froze with his hand on the doorknob. After working his jaw for a moment he winced as if in pain and then glared at Giles. “Fine. But then I want fifty dollars.”

Refraining from pointing out that payment would make a sort of whore out of the vampire—that delicious realization could wait until later—Giles waved towards the kitchen. “I’ve a half dozen pints in my freezer. You can have them instead.”

Spike looked longingly in that direction and then seemed to shrink a bit. “Fine,” he mumbled, and walked back to the sofa. “Get it over with.”

Comprehension was slowly dawning on Wesley’s face. Before the man could work up an objection, Giles stood and walked to the middle of the floor. “Come here, Wesley,” he ordered in his very best schoolmasterish voice. As he’d expected, Wesley didn’t even consider disobeying. When he was standing in place, with his back to Spike, Giles nodded. “Good. Now hunch down please, just a bit.” He turned to Spike. “Take off your coat and drop your trousers.”

Both Wesley and Spike made strangled sounds, but neither of them made any additional protest. Spike threw his coat onto the sofa and unfastened his jeans before shoving them down to his knees. It did not surprise Giles to learn that he wore no underwear, nor that his buttocks were round and firm. Even the fact that Spike’s long, slim cock was half erect did not astonish him: the pain to come might prove appealing both to a demon and to a man who’d attended a Victorian public school. 

Spike saw Giles looking and smirked, but when Giles showed no signs of embarrassment the vampire’s expression turned contemplative instead, with perhaps a flicker of alarm. But he managed to put a bit of a sway in his hips as, knees hobbled by his jeans, he approached Wesley. He pressed his front to Wesley's back, then threw his arms around his neck.

Wesley looked about two minutes away from apoplexy. “Mr. Giles,” he began.

“He can’t hurt you. I told you, he’s been neutered.”

“Does it feel like I’m neutered?” Spike countered, and rubbed his crotch against Wesley’s backside. Wesley tried to move away, Spike tightened his grip, and Giles barked at them both.

“Stay still!”

They obeyed.

“Now, Wesley. Hoist him up onto your back. It’s to keep him immobile and give me better access, you see.”

If Wesley still had second thoughts, he apparently determined that there was no graceful way to extricate himself from the situation. He did as Giles ordered, so that Spike’s boots dangled several inches above the floor. Spike’s arse muscles were clenched in anticipation of what was to come. 

Giles smiled.

“I haven’t a birch or a cane, so I’m going to use my hand instead.” He didn’t mention that he possessed a paddle, as well as a nice leather tawse he’d once purchased in Edinburgh. He hadn’t used either implement for some time.

“Just get it over with,” Spike said.

“Tsk. That’ll be six extra for impudence.”

Spike opened his mouth and then shut it again. Giles stepped forward and palmed the smooth, rounded skin. It was cool, as he’d expected, but not unpleasantly so, and as delicate as any woman’s. He wondered whether that was a characteristic of vampirism or just of Spike. Perhaps he could look up the subject in his reference books later. Spike seemed to enjoy the touch. He relaxed in any case, and that was what Giles was waiting for. As soon as those big muscles unclenched, he raised his hand and brought it down with a resounding smack.

The blow sent Spike’s pelvis forward, into Wesley’s lower back, and made Wesley stagger a bit. It also made that pale skin redden immediately, although how that happened in the absence of blood circulation Giles had no idea. He wasn’t certain how vampires became erect either, for that matter. Another topic for future research.

But now was the time for something else. As soon as Wesley regained his footing, Giles hit Spike again, and then again, and then once more. His palm stung with the force of it and Spike’s breath caught slightly with each jolt, which was highly satisfying. Then Giles paused to smooth the bruising flesh, running the pad of his thumb over it softly. He was tempted to trail his fingers down, into the cleft that was lined with downy hairs, but that wasn’t the lesson he’d promised. Not tonight, anyway.

After a dozen more hits, Spike’s arse had warmed nicely and was a uniform bright red. His  face was buried against the leather on Wesley’s shoulder, which muffled the groans he was starting to emit. Giles didn’t know if the noises were due to pain or pleasure. Maybe both.

As for Wesley, he was standing his ground, but his flush was back and his breaths were coming in short pants. He had a sheen of sweat over his face and, Giles couldn’t help but notice, a rather large bulge in his trousers. Giles was hard as well, although neither of the other two could see.

He continued to spank until his hand grew numb and Spike’s moans sounded more like cries. Sometimes Giles paused long enough to stroke the reddened skin, but never for very long. Only when Spike made a loud sort of sobbing noise and Giles felt his arm becoming sore did he stop. Then he stepped back to admire the damage he had done. Spike would be bruised soon, although the marks would fade rapidly enough. Pity.

Giles clenched and unclenched his hand. “You may put him down now.”

Wesley dipped down a bit so that Spike’s feet hit the floor. Spike’s knees almost buckled, but he managed to stand. Giles smiled when he saw that the vampire’s cock was wet and flaccid, and that a rather obvious white splatter now adorned the back of Wesley’s black leather jacket.

“Fancied that, did you?” Spike said as he gingerly pulled up his jeans.

“It was a lesson,” Giles answered primly, although he allowed a glint to show in his eyes. He was pleased when Spike dropped his gaze first.

Spike’s gait was very awkward as he walked to the kitchen. A moment later, Giles heard the buzz of the microwave.  Wesley was still standing, his arms hanging at his side. “I’m, erm, not so certain that makes an effective punishment,” he said. “Not if the… delinquent enjoys.”

“He may have enjoyed, but even a vampire will carry an uncomfortable reminder of the discipline for some time. Besides, I expect it took several goes when he was an adolescent before he was trained to gain satisfaction from being spanked.” Although, he didn’t add, it might take only a single instance for a young man to enjoy _giving_ the punishment.

Wesley nodded and tried to adjust himself without being too obvious about it. He eyed the mostly empty whisky bottle longingly before shaking his head. “I should go. I’m in pursuit of a demon—”

“That’s terribly dangerous. I know. But it isn’t here.”

Wesley nodded unhappily.

Giles found himself feeling a bit of sympathy for the man. “Perhaps you might try Los Angeles. Angel has opened a sort of demonic detective agency there, I understand.”

“Angel,” Wesley said, wrinkling his nose with distaste.

“I’m told Miss Chase is there as well.”

That made Wesley brighten visibly. “Cordelia?”

Giles nodded.

A moment later, Wesley mumbled his thanks and left the flat. Giles heard the rumble of a motorcycle as he pulled away. He walked to his armchair but didn’t sit; instead he refilled his glass and had another long draught.

Spike emerged from the kitchen shortly afterward, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He was limping. “Hate to eat and run, Rupert, but—”

“Not yet.” Giles poured one more glass and stood in front of Spike. Very close, in fact, and in a way that emphasized his greater height and bulk. 

The vampire’s eyes widened.

With his free hand, Giles reached around to squeeze the denim that was stretched over Spike’s arse. Spike yelped slightly and bucked forward, directly into Giles’ torso . “I think,” Giles said, “tonight requires a few more lessons.”

_ ~~~fin~~~ _

  



End file.
